


Plus Six Potion of Resurrection

by Spitshine



Series: Sure As Hell Earned It [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Affectionate Use of Homophobic Slurs, Aftercare, Bad Stories for Bad People, Blood, But it's only temporary!, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom Derek, Dom/sub, Gratuitous Use of the Word “Bitch”, Inappropriate Potion Use, Knotting, Licking, M/M, Marking, Murder Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Stiles Dies, Sub Stiles, Unwholesome Recovery Fic, breath play, handjobs, ish, knotting that hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spitshine/pseuds/Spitshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles has no idea what the hell the recently-defeated witch was planning on doing with a shelfful of growlers of “+6 Potion of Resurrection”—it wasn't like she even had a coven—but he sure knows what he wants to do with it.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Well, assuming he can get Derek to go along with it.</i></p><p> </p><p>In which Stiles gets an unexpected opportunity to indulge his murder kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to the oh-so-lovely anon who decided to comment on an earlier story in this series. They said, and I quote, “Why don't you just have Derek rip Stiles to shreds and kill him? Disgusting story for disgusting people. Ugh.” So obviously I decided to do exactly that. This one's for you, Mac! (Woulda had it up sooner but I had to figure out how to talk Derek into it.)
> 
> Content warning in the end notes. Also in the tags.

Stiles has no idea what the hell the recently-defeated witch was planning on doing with a shelfful of growlers of “+6 Potion of Resurrection”—it wasn't like she even had a coven—but he sure knows what he wants to do with it.

Well, assuming he can get Derek to go along with it.

*

Derek doesn't go along with it, not the first time he oh-so-slyly edges around the topic, or the second time, when he asks straight up. The third time, he barely opens his mouth to speak when Derek shuts him down.

“Stiles. No.”

“Bu-”

Derek sighs heavily and squeezes his temples between his index finger and thumb. “It's my job to take care of you.” He leaves the “idiot” unsaid, but it's loud all the same.

“And roughing me up is a great way to do that!”

Derek stares at him, blank and unbelieving. “You're not asking me to _rough you up_. You're asking me to-” He moves his hand down to cover his eyes and most of his face. “No, Stiles. I'd do a lot for you, you know that, before you had this moronic fucking idea I would have said anything, but not this. I can't.”

*

“You know, that whole plus six thing is a Dungeons and Dragons joke. I know, what a nerd, right? No fucking wonder she was a solitary. But what it means-”

“Stiles.”

“-is that that potion is just as strong as it could possibly be. Plus six is the highest modifier available in DnD, so-”

“We're not talking about this.”

*

“It might be cathartic, you know, to be able to bring me back, after...” Stiles trails off, blinking rapidly at the werewolf-sized hole in his window screen. Derek hasn't been in so much of a rush he forgot to lift it in, well, ever. Huh. Maybe bringing up the whole Paige thing _was_ pushing it a little.

*

Stiles decides to drop it after the screen incident (even in the safety of his own head, he's a little too embarrassed about his bad behavior to call it the Paige incident) and tries to push the idea to the back of his mind. He hopes to, in time, forget all about it.

So it takes him somewhat by surprise when Derek picks him up from school a good three weeks later and, instead of parking somewhere deep in the Preserve so they can do the do, he pulls into a big box-store parking lot and turns to face Stiles, face drawn and somber.

 _Oh shit_ , Stiles thinks. _This is it, he's done. Only a matter of—oh, he's talking._ Stiles straightens his posture and turns towards Derek, finally tuning in.

“...test it first. There's no way, Stiles, no way that I can trust this, trust you, to some witch's weird labeling system. I mean, it might not even be that potion, it could've been a joke, or maybe it expired, or...” Derek trails off, clearly lost in the wrong-going potential of whatever he—oh. Ohhhhh. Yeah.

“I thought you were dead set against it? So to speak. I mean, I know I crossed a line, the last time I asked; I was trying to let it go, you know? I realized I hadn't, uh, hadn't been very respectful of your boundaries, so...”

Derek shifts in his seat, looks fixedly into his sideview mirror. “I, that is, Deaton said it can help. To replay trauma in a controlled environment, give it a better ending.”

“You did _not_ tell Deaton about my freaky murder kink! Did you? Did you?!” Stiles hears himself shrieking, sees Derek wincing at the pitch and volume, can't seem to reign it in.

“Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do, Stiles? He's more likely to keep it to himself than anyone else we know, the cryptic bastard, and he's used to advising on pack matters. I'm your alpha, I'm supposed to take care of you, to provide for you, and it's more than that.” Derek turns back but doesn't make eye contact, stares stiffly at Stiles' knees instead. “You're my, my lover, and I want to be good for you. Fulfill you.”

It takes all of Stiles' self-control not to croon, “Aww, boo,” but he manages. He can let Derek have a moment for once. He can.

“But even so, we have to test it first.” Derek flicks his eyes up again, finally, and Stiles feels his heart twist at the raw emotion there—fear, love, determination. “Non-human animals first, and then maybe—we could hang around the ICU or the ER, see if we can test it there. And even if—we're not gonna do this all the time. If it works, this potion is a valuable asset to the pack and we can't just fritter-”

Stiles wants to roll his eyes, but flings himself over the console and into Derek's lap instead, blissfully ignoring the steering wheel crammed into his spine. “No, of course, we can save it, we should save it, once is plenty, once is more than I ever thought I could get, even after we found the potion, I never thought you would—” It comes out all at once, and Stiles is breathless before he switches to kissing Derek, still talking. “Thank you, daddy, you're _mmrph_ you're the best, you're _ohhhfuck_ gonna take such good _yesyesyes_ good care of me, the best care _yeah yeah okay_.”

Stiles is still muttering his gratitude a few minutes later when he comes all over Derek's hand and both of their bellies.

*

“I don't think I can do this.”

“It's a mouse.”

“But what if it doesn't work?”

“You were seriously going to let me tear your throat out with my claws-”

“Or teeth! Teeth are good too!”

“Not. Helping. You were going to let me tear your throat out, on the strength of an untested potion you apparently have less that 100% confidence in?”

“Um. When you put it that way, it sounds really bad, like really really bad, but... yes? I mean, I just didn't think it through that much I guess. And I've never just killed something, like, in cold blood. Not in a fight or anything. I mean. It's not like I'm protecting you from the mouse or anything. And he's so cute!”

Derek groans loudly in frustration, once, punches a tree hard enough to leave dark red smears on the bark, and takes off into the woods, shifting as he goes.

Stiles follows just long enough to gather Derek's shed clothes and then collapses under a tree, cursing soundlessly his own stupidity.

*

Derek goes along with it. Eventually. After plenty of trial-and-error, Stiles killing a hapless rodent only to grow drunk on his own power when he brings it back from _motherfucking death_ , the theft of Melissa's ID, a midnight visit to the hospital, and the stealthy return of Melissa's ID, Stiles hissing apologies through his teeth the whole way.

But he goes along with it, and Stiles walks around in a euphoric, anticipatory haze for the three weeks it takes to get all the details ironed out.

*

Stiles pushes back against Derek's slippery fingers, trying to get more, faster, deeper, harder, anything.

“Greedy slut,” Derek chuckles. “You're not happy with two, I can always go back to one.”

Stiles whines high in the back of his throat but stops moving all the same.

Derek drags it out, opening Stiles more slowly than he has since the first time they'd fucked—maybe even slower than that—with his human right hand while his clawed left strokes up and down Stiles' sides, his legs, curving over his hips and sliding down his arms.

Occasionally he angles his fingers down, rakes through Stiles' skin instead of skating across it, and Stiles can't help it, he arches into the touch and chants, “Yes yes yes _yes yes YES_ ,” into his fist until the words break into a hot, wide-mouthed scream. The gouges sear into his flesh; he feels he's being rent to the bone, but when he twists his neck to look at his hip, torn skin is all he he sees. He gasps, “Oh fuck, Derek,” and Derek doesn't miss a beat, pulls his hand out to spank across Stiles' hole before plunging all four fingers in for the first time that night. “S-sorry, sir, I mean, oh fuck, sir, give it to me-” He breaks off in a whimper when Derek's hand leaves him empty again but claws sink into each thigh, flipping him hard enough to knock the wind out and press his knees uncomfortably into his shoulders. “Please, alpha, take it outta my hide.”

Derek rubs his slit over Stiles' lube-sloppy hole, not pressing in any more than a half inch no matter how Stiles begs, just letting them both feel the push. Derek pulls one hand free to wrap around Stiles' neck and that must be muscle, has to, because his thigh, his whole side is wet now and he can't move his left leg as good as the right. If this was a fight, he'd be scrabbling to cram it down where it can't get to him, to grit his teeth and keep going, but here, finally, he can let himself feel all of it, the pain and the danger and the bone-deep certainty this one is going to fuck him up. He revels in it, in the hot too-much-ness swelling under his skin making him sensitive and desperate.

He pulls in just enough air to whisper, “Green,” behind Derek's thumb pushing in behind his collar bone, Derek's four fingers splayed across his throat. He knows better than to wiggle his hips, chasing the fuck, so he forces himself to hold still as Derek sinks into him, thick even before he gets to where his knot's already swollen. He doesn't stop or slow, just pushes unrelentingly into Stiles' too-small body.

Stiles screams, because nothing short of a fist is ever prep for that and shoves back against what little leverage he has to arch his neck, rolls his head back to expose every inch of throat he has. “Do it, daddy, please, I need it, every I feel everything feels so much c'mon c'mon...”

Derek shakes him a little and he shushes in time to hear, “...until I come, bitch. You can wait that long, can't you? Stupid little pup.”

Stiles wants to nod, yes, he is the _stupidest_ , this is literally the worst idea anyone could ever have, and Derek is giving it to him, he's so fucking lucky—but he doesn't want to tilt his chin down, cover his throat even the least bit. So he hisses out these pathetic, wet, muffled little noises, trying to say yes.

When Derek's hand rakes down his ribs to make room for Derek's face, shoving under his jaw and snuffling around in the blood, Stiles keens and can't hold still anymore, rocking up onto his shoulders to meet Derek's thrusts. Derek allows this for a few minutes before he scoops Stiles up in both arms. Stiles wraps his blood-sticky legs around Derek's waist and Derek is everywhere, fills up his whole world. Sweat drips off Derek's hair into his eyes, his nose and mouth are thick with Derek's scent, his hips and back bounce off Derek's thighs while Derek's hands hold his shoulders firm. He's never felt this focused or this free in his life. He's flying.

Stiles tugs at Derek's hair to bring him into a kiss and gets side-tracked by Derek's eyes. His pupils are huge and black; Stiles can feel his own eyes getting wider as they stare into each other.

“I'm gonna come,” Derek says, low and solemn. “I'm gonna-”

Stiles grunts in pain as Derek rolls his hips and his knot pulses bigger, but he keeps his eyes where they are and groans out, “Yeah, do it, I'm ready.”

Derek drops Stiles heavily and shifts his own weight to one forearm, the other hand closing back over Stiles' throat.

Stiles feels Derek's cock throb in him one more time, filling him, and Derek catches his lip in his teeth like he always does, and Stiles goes to scream because it feels so good and it hurts so much but he can't hear; he has no idea if he's making noise, just that his throat is closed where it should be open, it's turning hot and wet from the inside out and Derek is everywhere, Derek is everything.

*

The first thing that penetrates Stiles' consciousness is a thick, syrupy glugglug noise. He opens his mouth to speak, to ask about it, but the words won't come.

Next are Derek's eyes, so huge they shift from one to two to one, serious and shiny-wet and filled with concern.

The third thing that filters into his dim awareness is Derek's hand clutching too-hard at his face, closely followed by the unending litany of Derek's voice. “Ssh, ssh, sweetheart. Don't talk yet. Baby. It's okay, you're gonna be okay. You will. Can you open your other eye for me? Yeah, yeah, just like that. Good, _good_ pup. You had me so worried, baby.”

Stiles blinks rapidly, trying to take stock. Vaguely, he feels his own skin, warm and sticky from the... blood? Must be, if Derek is so worried. Must be a lot of blood. But there's something else, cool and slick, oily almost, pouring onto his throat, spilling down his chest, his arms. The potion.

The _potion_. Right. That's what happened. He can't help himself; he lets out a hollow chuckle. And, less intentionally, a thick burble of congealing blood as the laugh forces air through his clogged airway. “Think you can stop pouring now, big guy.”

“It's not—why are you _laughing_?” Derek sounds affronted, and Stiles can't blame him, not really. Not after everything he put the poor guy through.

“No, no, it's just, I didn't remember what happened, when I woke up, I just figured whatever I was covered in had to be blood, my blood, if you were sounding so sweet. Letting me see you be worried. See you care. And then I remembered.”

“I always care.” He's offended now, no doubt about it.

“I know, boo, I know. I knew before and even if I hadn't, you couldn't ever prove it better than doing this. C'mere. What do you need? You can have whatever you want as long as I don't have to move. I still can't feel my—there it is. Dude! Did your knot get even bigger?”

“Just—just let me—let me—” Derek doesn't bother with more words than that, just hunches his back so he can nuzzle into Stiles' neck without pulling too hard at the boy's rim, and sets to licking. Licks off the potion first, and then the blood, all the while saying things too quiet, too muffled for Stiles to catch.


	2. A Few Months Later...

“Stiles, where did you say you put those—is this your _sex trunk_ , Derek? Why don't you lock that—WHY IS THERE A BOTTLE OF PLUS SIX POTION OF RESURRECTION IN YOUR FUCKING _SEX TRUNK_ , DEREK?”

“Remember that rule about not asking questions you don't want the answer to, Scotty? Check yourself before you wreck yourself, bro,” Stiles calls up smugly.

But not before Derek, face red, grinds out, “Stiles is a fucking menace.”

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Stiles tries to negotiate a scene Derek is suuuper uncomfortable with, and instead of letting it go when Derek says NOPE, he continues to ask at different times. He does—eventually—give up and in the end, it's Derek that suggests they go through with it, so it doesn't quite feel like dubcon to me, but it certainly touches the line. This series may as well be named “Mind the Goddamn Tags,” so, you know, take care of yourself.


End file.
